


Fire & Ice (Game of Thrones AU)

by maireeps



Series: A Song of Fire and Ice - Game of Thrones AU [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura & Lance (Voltron) are Siblings, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Game of Thrones References, Game of Thrones-esque, Gay Keith (Voltron), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Half-Siblings, Keith is King in the North, M/M, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Politics, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-23 23:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16628717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maireeps/pseuds/maireeps
Summary: As King in the North, Keith Snow has now rallied his people to fight the overwhelming undead forces marching on the Wall separating Westeros from a frozen hell. There had always been talk of the last of the Targaryen legacy living across the Great Grass Sea, but now the eldest of their dynasty and her younger brother has crossed to their ancestral home Dragonstone on the backs of five of the long dead dragons - drawing the ruling house Lannister into a war for the Iron Throne.With the means for his people's survival against the White Walkers buried under Dragonstone, Keith must convince and form a strong alliance with Allura Targaryen. He's almost sure she'd sever not only the alliance but his head from his shoulders with the way he looks at her brother though.[PINING Keith / He's got a war to win but his eyes are in all the wrong places ]





	Fire & Ice (Game of Thrones AU)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this AU like a mother hen for too long. Please enjoy it if you can! I made it so you don't really have to follow Game of Thrones to read/get the scenarios - lots of backstory. I did try to follow the Game of Thrones style of writing - with the old timey English but also with the crass, mature themes and rough language. TW for mention of non-con, underage, violence, all that horrid jazz. 
> 
> TL/DR: Keith is a horn dog, Lance is beautiful

Fire & Ice  
☨ A Song of Fire & Ice - Game of Thrones AU ☨  


* * *

"You are the moon of my life. That is all I know and all I need to know. And if this is a dream, I will kill the man who tries to wake me."

* * *

 

  
Perhaps he was an idiot for answering the Targaryens’ call. The Twin Dragons, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, Commander of the Unsullied, the Dothraki, the Brotherhood, the Golden Company… From the Great Grass Sea, they burst onto their ancestral home Dragonstone like twin comets flying back to Earth. There were whispers of how the stars kissed their silver hair, how the suntanned their skin, unlike any summer burn the people of Westeros could possess. Their eyes were shimmering glass, one pair sapphire and the other the rarest form of red, as if they were sculpted by the Gods and Goddesses of Old. They were the children of ancient magicks; something otherworldly, according to slaves they left unchained in Meeren, according to the bards that sang in taverns, according to the whores that stole their images in brothels.

He had no inkling of desire to see the Twin Dragons. No lust to bend the knee, no yearning to kiss their fair hands. His people were in need. The Dragonglass under their ancestral home would at least level the war between his people in the North and the Night King. So he went.

Touching on the dark sand, only the eldest met with his men at the beach. She was the Matriarch, the Mother of Dragons. Her hair was long and braided to the ground, with robes of dark thick fabric for the approaching winter. His men thought she was beautiful, as their eyes followed her like they were the back of her robes. She walked with her translator, and hand at her side, Shay and Thace Lannister, the man who had once saved his life. He was far more glad to see him than the Queen who was making his men’s jaws go slack. He saw what they did not; the dark circles under her hazy red eyes, the gaunt in her step from riding not horses but dragons, and the prim posture of leadership. He held it also, like the weight of his burden sat square on his chest, pushing his spine straight. As they tracked up the winding stairs to Dragonstone, they said nothing for there was nothing yet to say. 

He didn’t understand the songs or the poems until he saw the younger. The Dragon Prince, the Regent Heir. He did not meet them graciously, did not so much as arrive for the beginning negotiations, no, he arrived precisely when he wanted. 

The foreign sheer silks pulled around his body were hardly anything to help leave to the imagination, and his skin was the purest Keith had laid his eyes upon. The Dragon Prince carried with him the ease of power and a wine glass rimmed with gold. The wine itself stained his lips and cheeks with a rosy rouge, and aided in some sort of illusionistic image of a faerie. His ears tipped like the Targaryens of old, skin so richly brown and nothing he had yet seen from anyone north of Dorne, and his fair hair silky to his cheekbones. Even the tips of his fingers had a shine, an attractive glow, and he padded to his sister’s side in his silken skirts of silver and the palest blue with dazzling amounts of jewelry. 

His men thought this dragon prince to be beautiful as well, for their eyes followed him like paste. Like they were memorizing the rosy pink of peaked nipples gently seen from under the low, low cut of his silken top, or his ass as it rounded from a slim enough waist Keith was sure he could put in his one hand, gripped right around. 

It was just his men. Not him. 

He did not memorize the Dragon Prince’s titles, he did not watch the fluttering of silver trimmed eyelashes like he was counting each one, and he did not,  _ definitely did not, _ half-lower his voice in an attempt to sound a bit more manly than usual upon finding out the dragon prince’s stature was a tad taller than him normally (he had armor on, he was always taller with armor). No matter how much Takashi half-lectured, half-teased him for “ogling”, he did not. 

It was weeks later when they talked first, not at some hosting for the Targaryens’ war council, to which the dragon prince did not make himself the most involved individual, and definitely not at the on-grounds war camps. His sister, Allura Targaryen was a privy fighter. He had seen her himself in the many months after they had melded forces to defeat the Night King and his army of the dead. The way she rode the dragon Blakoz the Black Dawn was almost incomparable to her on the battlefield. He had long watched his brother notice the same. 

But nae, he saw the fair Dragon Prince in the North. At castle Winterfell, the home of his family. He had ridden long and hard for Winterfell after the battle just south of the wall, having received the raven by maester Slav and the serving Lady of Winterfell and daughter to the Tullys, Katie. Pidge, as he called her by her childhood nickname, had told him she would only send him ravens if he was needed most, as she knew his sword was needed among the many on the field. When he had received word, he had barely enough breath in him to turn to Takashi before he mounted his horse and kicked his heels until they burned. 

When he saw Winterfell, he was deeply relieved. The women and children of the displaced villages near the Wall had taken camp in the walls of Winterfell, and the reinforcements from the Targaryens’, their own Golden Company, patrolled the stones as extra support against the White Walkers. He had not known the Golden Company to already be across the sea, and he was examining the gates and the men with their golden shirts when he saw the great beasts. 

The white dragon, almost a pale blue but completely camouflaged in the winter, settled out of the sky onto the spire of Winterfell. Above her, her brother in gold, circled before nestling in the oaken wood around Winterfell.  Aeksion the Gold, and Ayredi of the Moonlight.  _ Two _ of the five Targaryen dragons, without any wielder to yield them?    
  
He ordered the men to open the gates, riding hard all the way through until the stairs were upon him. He swung off his horse, betraying his anger in the way he ignored his people’s cries around him. He stalked up the stairs, hand already gripping his sword handle. The wood shook beneath his feet as he made his way to the Hall. Slav was already outside, his paw-like sleeves folding immediately. Keith had no time for his yammer, and burst open the door to the Hall with one hand alone, leaving the wood slamming against the inside wall as if to completely fall off its hinges. 

Pidge sat at the table, her skirts discarded for pants and a men’s shirt that looked suspiciously like one of his own. Next to her, sat upon the desk, was the Dragon Prince. 

His silver hair gleamed in the light from the fires, his fair silken robes under a thick fur-lined cloak of white, pooling around him. They seemed to be chatting, giggling even, before he had interrupted so angrily. With Lance Targaryen sitting in his hold, his mind began to wander to its deepest dreams. 

Mostly they were filled with the desire to see the younger Targaryen on his furs in the Lord’s Chambers, spread out with shiny eyes and wet lips, waiting for him. His hands grasping to pull his thighs apart for Keith, inviting him in, already pink and leaking and yearning for more - He snapped himself out of it as they had been staring at him for about a few moments.

“Your,” his voice betrayed his thoughts as it cracked, “dragons…”    
  


The Targaryen prince blinked at him before sweeping up to step around the head table, his accent betrayed his heritage, musical with the previous sound of a High-Valyrian upbringing, “Ah - Aekison and Ayredi are here for protection. As I heard the people of your Winterfell needed more guards, I brought the Golden Company. They are my own army, my sister commands us all but they bend to my will. I hope that suits you.” 

He darted his stunning blue eyes to Pidge, who grinned wide. He began to smile like he was nervous about the idea of not asking the King of the North to protect his people. The bashfulness made Keith want to grab the Targaryen Prince and take him by the mouth, in front of anyone at this point. Even his ferocious sister, Queen Allura. He dropped his gaze to the wood floor, where Lance Targaryen’s silken robes caught at every dip. Was he suddenly ashamed of the lack of gorgeous woven rugs under foot? Something soft for the Targaryen prince who had paraded Dragonstone in bare feet and eye-catching translucent silks…

“Is that alright, my lord?” He was close now, and Keith would’ve jumped at the distance if he wasn’t so caught up in those eyes.

In fact, he was so caught up in those eyes, his words took a mind of its own and corrected the Dragon Prince, “My King.” 

Lance smiled, dazzlingly so. “My apologies. I’ve called my sister Queen for so long. Forgive me,  _ my King. _ ” 

He needed Pidge and her innocent child eyes out of this hall and the door locked immediately for he was about to pounce and take the Targaryen prince like a bitch in heat over the great hall’s table - No! No. He was acting like a pup, an untrained pup, not the fucking Red Wolf of the North. He shook his mind out, purging his metaphorical fur of its drops of lust. Standing before the Prince, he did nothing but avert his eyes, feeling the tips of his ears flush with heat. 

He didn’t know of anything to say - besides what the wolfish part of his mind supplied him (‘ _ Aye, your King. Now open that pretty mouth’  _ \- he was rightfully glad Pidge’s brother, Matthew, the Three Eyed Raven with his mind-reading, wasn’t present to hear his foul mind). Gladly, he did not have to say much. Pidge stood, nodding to him with a smile. Did she call him back to make sure Lance’s presence was fine? A simple raven might’ve done enough. Even the thought of the Targaryen Prince’s scrawled signature on a wisp of paper would’ve been enough… He was sure the adrenaline from battle was diluting his brain. How long had he stayed among the unashamed Wildings, or drank with the foul-mouthed Dothraki? Surely it was just the smell of blood and the taste of his blade through enemy flesh that made him react so to a pretty face.

It didn’t help it was the prettiest of faces, sure, nor did it help that the pretty face was attached to a very capable man, and a very capable ass - 

“Should we drink tonight?” Pidge declared, nodding to Slav to already start preparations, “For Prince Targaryen’s good health and the men he has provided Winterfell?” A feast. He had traded meat for meal in the battlefield - feeding thousands to keep the army of the dead at bay meant rations were short. His stomach promptly growled at the idea of juicy venison - charred to the bone from the hearth.    
  
“The men of the Golden Company would cheer for that, lady,” Lance was musical, almost floating at the idea of a feast, by the way his cheeks and eyes lit up, “Feel free to ask them to help with the hunt. I would like to go myself but my room calls me. Something about getting out of these thin silks…”    
  
Pidge laughed with the Prince, and Keith almost did himself. The warm-blooded Targaryen looked pale to say in the least. He shivered when the slightest of breezes wafted through the hall, like a still green leaf on a frozen path. Pidge bade an echo of a farewell and went with Slav to prepare Winterfell for a feast. 

And then they were alone. It felt like an eternity, standing rooted to the spot, but it might’ve been a moment before the Dragon Prince slithered closer. 

“Would you come with me, my King?” The curve of those lips pulled into a smirk, almost teasing, “I’m afraid I’d lose myself in these halls. And I do think we have much to talk about.”    
  
He raised an eyebrow to the Targaryen Prince, who merely smiled almost secretly. He stepped forward again, arms outstretched and it took a second before it clicked for Keith. He was to escort the Prince. He hadn’t escorted anyone before, not before or after the Night’s Watch. He didn’t even know where to put his  _ hands  _ \- But the Prince halted his mental panic, placing slim slender fingers around his right arm, trailing them down to his elbow until the Prince physically positioned his arm bent and slid his own arm around it. Then together, though Lance led them into the first stride, they began to walk. 

“Forgive me if I’m too bold,” Lance started, as they exited the hall in favor for the outside battlements towards the living quarters, “I heard the men call you the Bastard King. You are not the son of your father’s wife?”   
  
What an opening topic. He had knocked metal chalices into skulls and kicked in knees of men who dared ask him the same. “...It’s truth. Ryou Stark is my father, but I am Keith Snow by blood.” With their arms clasped, he could feel the Targaryen Prince dip forward to look to his face, but he kept looking straight on. The brothers of the Night’s Watch at the end of the hall opened the doors to the living quarters, and he swept the Dragon Prince through them, away from the cold. Their curious eyes as he passed felt like a weight; he’d be hearing rumors later amongst the brothers. 

“Snow?” Lance mused, tapping the fingers of his other hand against his lips, “An odd name for a babe of the North. It fits you, I must say. Keith Snow, King and Red Wolf of the North.”    
  
It wasn’t the relaying of his titles that caught, but the glimmer in the Dragon Prince’s eyes and the gentle tap of his own fingertips to his bottom lip. They held a gaze for only a few moments before those blue eyes darted to somewhere behind him and widened considerably. When he turned, the black hulk of his direwolf Cosmo lumbered down the enclosed living quarters toward them. He could feel the Targaryen Prince tense before the wolf yelped sweetly and ran his paws down Keith’s front. He was larger than before, just as thickly black and gentle with his love. Keith released the Prince’s arm to rub affection on the direwolf’s scruff. 

Almost immediately after though, Cosmo went to the Dragon Prince. He sniffed at his silken robes, long and for a while before the Prince hesitantly dropped his hand to the direwolf and received quite a few licks. It was then when Lance released his breath, looking to Keith with wide moon eyes. “He’s beautiful…”    
  
Cosmo understood and wiggled around the two of them happily. “He’s a beast,” Keith muttered, cuffing Cosmo’s ear as he passed to calm him down. 

Lance smiled, shifting close to clasp onto Keith’s arm again, “I have always been fond of beautiful beasts. Shall we continue on?”    
  
He had nothing to say to that, besides what his ruthless mind supplied. They continued on to the end of the living quarters hall, where the finest of rooms sat adjacent to the Lord’s Chambers. Did Pidge purposefully place the Prince along the hall from him? Did she know something? Beside them, Cosmo followed, tail lazily wagging. At least he was not so much of a pup as his own dog. 

The direwolf heard his jest in their shared mind and huffed unhappily, passing him to slide next to the Targaryen’s robes. Like a pup clinging to its mother. Cosmo whined and Lance tended to his ears, “Is he always so affectionate?”   
  
Keith watched the fair hair of the Prince dip as he did to pet his direwolf. Cosmo had not been unkind to the people of Winterfell, as he knew his direwolf would protect them. Seeing Cosmo skitter to the Dragon Prince’s side so easily to look for affection had been a much different sight. “Haven’t seen him like this to anyone but myself and my family.” He watched the crystal blue of the Prince’s eyes flit back to him. 

“It must be the familial instincts.” Lance mused, rising up to indicate the door they were approaching was his room. Damn Pidge. It was just right across the hall from the Lord’s Chambers. Keith unwound their arms, feeling the loss of the Prince’s warmth and stepping back so he may pass through the Golden Company guards into his rooms. 

But instead, the Prince turned back to him. “Ah,” He looked to his guards and dismissed them with a nod, “Would you join me, my King?” His body stiffened, watching the Golden Company men march away with looks of surprise. They looked like he felt, watching the Dragon Prince unlatch the room and open it, before turning sideways to invite him. 

Cosmo bounded in first, and he followed a lot more slowly. The room looked different than what his lost brother had decorated it - now the foreign silks were strewn across the furniture and on the beds. Delicate cases filled the room, including a moonstone bow leaning across a decorative tall dressing screen. Cosmo padded to the hearth, to curl around it. Keith stood like a dark shadow in the door frame of the room, his Night’s Watch cloak ruined and muddied and in his armor still, but the Prince gestured to the ornate chair close to the hearth by the door side and he sat. 

The Dragon Prince went to the hearth, close enough for Keith to reach out and touch the silken robes under the cloak. He bent to strike a fire, his white hair illuminated by the golden flames. “Did they tell of us in the North? The story of how my sister and I came to be?” Lance began, folding his arms gently before sitting in the chair opposite, nearest the dressing screen and the small wine table. 

Keith shook his head, once and Lance continued, “My sister was born during a storm at Dragonstone, the greatest storm in Westeros. I was the youngest, following her by almost four years. We had to flee when I was just a babe. I had no memories of Dragonstone, and I grew up across the Great Grass Sea.” 

He placed his wrist elegantly on the chair, looking to Keith, “Allura was sold to the Dothraki by our elder brother when she was barely 17… I was part of the deal, a gift to her new husband. Perhaps I would be a stable boy if I was in Westeros, but the Dothraki, they seem to have a different use for  _ stable boys… _ ” 

Keith knew much about it. He heard the Dothraki warriors, complaining for a non-pregnable bitch after a hard battle. They swore it was the greatest release. This beautiful Prince in front of him, who glimmered in the firelight with eyes of deep pools, had been used in such a vile manner. It made his throat tighten, fingers flying instinctually to the hilt of his sword. If the Dragon Prince noticed, he said nothing of it as he continued,    
  
“So you must forgive me if my anger is displaced.”    
  
Keith’s brow furrowed, watching the Prince stand and pad over to the window. He stared out to the snowscape of Winterfell before his piercing eyes cut across to hold Keith,    
  
“Your position in the North would be compromised if you bent the knee to my sister. You would no longer be a King but a Warden. Not a bad position to be, no but not King,” Keith wanted to stand and tell this Prince that he had no desire to be the King he spoke of, that he was thrust into this position and kept it only to save the North from the Night King but, 

“The only other way is to wed my sister. You would keep the title of King, marry the most beautiful woman in Westeros and become the head of five dragons. Is that not what you’re trying to do?”    


Keith blinked, blinked again and then again, before sliding low in the chair and placing a hand to his forehead to shield his face. Was this punishment? Did the Gods find this funny? He straightened up, to find Lance looking at him with slitted eyes. 

“I don’t intend to wed your sister,” Keith croaked, trying to avoid Lance’s sour gaze, “Nor is anyone going to suggest so. I am of… uh, a different taste.”    
  
It took a second but the Dragon Prince jumped forward, “Oh! Oh… Gods, well this is embarrassing.” The Prince laughed, and he couldn’t help but huff a laugh out too. The slit eyes and tight lips had been replaced with an almost face of relief, and though he had been beautiful glaring at Keith from across the room, here his face was light and dreamy… 

“Have you ever been with anyone, my King?” The question itself held a lot of weight, something that dropped onto his chest and knocked the utter wind out of him. He watched Lance, with darkened eyes as the Targaryen Prince draped himself over the back of the chair, arms propped under his chin. He was teasing him, the Dragon Prince of Meereen teasing the Red Wolf of the North. Those crystalized blue eyes danced with mirth and amusement. 

“Nae,” Keith coughed, ignoring how even Cosmo pulled his lips back in a semblance of a laugh, “your Grace, I have not. I was hardly desirable as the bastard son of Ryou Stark, then I took my vow at the Night’s Watch.” 

The Prince looked surprised, folding his arms elegantly as he paraded to the dressing screen. “I did not think the Great Houses of Westeros held abstinence in such high regard. Do the Night’s Watch vows prevent marriage? Ah… Do you mind?” Lance dropped his head to the screen, fingers already sliding across the open neck of his fair sheer silks underneath the cloak.   


Keith nodded Lance on, but stiffly. He had not been unknown to being in the same room as Pidge, or Takashi as they changed. A dressing screen in the tents on the battlefield was not uncommon, giving privacy to the commanders from prying eyes. Watching the shadow of the Targaryen Prince as he undressed make his throat dry, and his britches tight in excitement. He rubbed at the lower part of his face, feeling his scratchy scruff under his bare fingers, spying long tanned arms reach to and fro. 

His voice was weak when he went to answer, “The Night’s Watch forbids marriage, and laying with another. We pledge our lives to the Wall.” The small elegant movements of the Dragon Prince kept him occupied enough to not notice Cosmo until the mutt’s nose pressed hard in between his legs. He knocked Cosmo’s head, growling at him animalistically. Inside the direwolf’s mind, he heard the curious wonder over the change in the scent of his master, and why he had suddenly gone into heat - Keith grabbed the cuff of Cosmo’s neck and tossed him back to the hearth. 

The struggle went unnoticed by the Prince, who almost hummed, “Even laying with another? How sad…” A heavy scent filled the air; musky perfumed oil that the Prince seemed to dab onto his neck. Cosmo even perked up, sniffing the air. Keith was admittedly doing the same, as the smell was practically intoxicating. 

It startlingly made him realize the other heavy scent. He sat in the chambers of the fair Prince Targaryen, the most ethereal being he had ever laid his eyes on, stinking of a battlefield. Dried blood had crushed on the bottoms of his pants, smelling of the piss and blood of the dead men he had fought early the day before. Was it not easily the first rule of courtship etiquette - to prepare before you saw your courted? If Lady Stark had been here today, she would have slapped him over the head. 

He froze, gulping. Did… he just equate the Dragon Prince to his potential courted? By the sweat of his palms, it seemed so. He had been musing the wretched smell of his armor when Lance stepped out behind the screen. His white cloak and foreign robes were traded for a gorgeous sea green robe, encasing his upper arms but leaving his shoulders free. It hung loose between his legs, which were covered in a thick pair of white winter trousers in riding boots of pure ivory. Gold rings covered his neck, trailing thin gold body chains to the gold rings around his wrists. He looked mind numbingly beautiful, fingers trailing to the clear wine pitcher. 

Keith trailed his eyes from his fingers, playing on the crystal handle, up his soft silky arm to his eyes. Lance looked at him, stared right back, raising the pitcher with a jump of his eyebrows. Keith nodded, watching him pour the wine. He began to rise to take his cup, but the Prince stopped him. He held a hand up for Keith to sit back down, and trailed his way over to give Keith the cup of wine. He took it from Lance, watching the Targaryen press his lips to his own cup and take a taste. Keith followed, taking a sip of the wine. 

Lance sat down on the chair, folding one long gorgeous leg over the other, cradling the chalice of wine. “My King, do you like the North?” 

Keith nodded curtly, licking at a stray drop at his top lip as he pulled the glass away, “It is my home. I intend to protect the people here, and rule as long as I am necessary.”    
  
The Prince dropped his gaze to the cup, rolling a finger pad around the wine flute’s lip. It made a faint ringing noise, melodical and high pitched. “And… if you do not bend the knee, would the North rage war against my sister’s Iron Throne? Once this Night King has been dealt with?” 

Keith watched him for some time, but the Targaryen beauty did not raise his head. Lance sipped his wine quietly, his gaze sliding to the curled direwolf by the hearth. Keith cleared his throat, for those sapphire eyes to turn to him and when he caught them, he spoke, “The Night King is the North’s priority. War between Queen Allura and the North… It will not come to that, ah…  _ my Prince. _ ” 

Lance blinked, with a slow flutter of his gorgeous white tipped eyelashes. A darkened flush touched his tipped ears, and flitted on the top of his dusky cheekbones. He took a swig of wine, almost gulping it whole and subsequently coughing into his long sleeve. 

“M-Must you call me that?”    
  
Keith chuckled, “Aye.” 

Immediately the musical laughter of the Prince filled the room. He pushed forward on the chair, tapping his glass to the small table and looking to Keith with dazzling eyes. “Oh, say that again!” 

Keith’s eyebrows knit, fingers tapping around the cup in his palm, “Which?”    
  
Lance looked mischievously on, his lips pulled to a gorgeous smile, “Both?”    
  
Keith cleared his throat, which had surprisingly gone dry at the sight of those lips, “...Aye, my Prince.” 

Lance laughed, long and high. His shoulders jumped with the effort, hands lifting to his mouth and eyes shut. It was a sight worth staring, though Keith was sure he was being made fun of for the accent. The difference between the royal Targaryen’s High Valyrian tones, prim and proper with a distinct upbringing, and his rough Northern twang - it was prominent. He furrowed his brow, “It’s the way of the North, prince. ‘Aye’ and ‘Nae’, it may not be quite like your High Valyrian… Is it, uh, unpleasant?” 

Lance shook his head immediately, splaying himself over the chair arm with his head tipped to one shoulder. “I do not despise it, it’s very endearing...” 

He leaned forward then, shirt drooping to give Keith a view of the smooth skin below the V, “Like your face, my King. I heard many speak of your handsomeness, and many talked of your unruly dark hair. Before I met you, I have completely been prepared to see it free and yet you pull it back…” 

Keith was stunned. Now not only had the Targaryen Prince called him handsome, but pouted in front of him, all lips and nearly begging eyes, for his hair to be taken down from his normal knot? He had heard that many thought he was ‘ruggedly handsome’, which was more of a term for Takashi than himself he thought, but seeing that Lance had seen the same, or at least heard the same? His abdomen tightened, fingers curling to bury his nails into the bite of his leather gloves. He cleared his throat enough to speak, mind foggy, “It gets in the way of battle.”    
  
Lance softly hummed, flicking his eyes up to the thick bun at the back of Keith’s head. He stood, silently to his feet. It faintly reminded Keith of the archers on the field, how the Prince moved with fluid steps. 

The Prince stood in front of him, leaving them with barely an inch or two between them. Hands hovered over his hair, previously once slick from sweat and the cold, “May I?” 

Keith nearly gulped, because Prince Lance did not wait for his response before his fingers loosened the tie around his knot. His straight veil of black hair rolled out, long in the back to the mouth of his armor, but cut short to frame his face. Lance made a surprised noise, too much like a purr before slender fingers twirled in the ends of his fine hair. He looked up, to see Lance looking down to him. 

The connection of their eyes made his hands, firmly planted on his knees, twitch. He wanted to hold onto the Prince, to run his hands smoothly down the waist before him and down to the back of his thighs until they were pressed around him, thin but shapely and warm - 

Fingers pulled at his upper lip, forcing open his mouth. “Ooh!” Lance gasped in delight, running the tip of his pointer finger under the sharp point of Keith’s canines. The very ones who had been mocked by the people long ago, and despised by Lady Stark. The Targaryen Prince leaned over him, their knees knocking and his body squarely in Keith’s very personal space as he played with the Wolf’s fangs. Surprisingly he did nothing but let the prince have his way, even opening his mouth wider for the Prince to touch his other fang. 

“How _ fearsome _ ,” Lance teased, “Oh they remind me of Aekison when he was young. His teeth were just about the same… To see them on a human, Gods. I find them captivating!” 

In the corner of his eye, he could spy Cosmo laughing in short chuffs. He rolled on his back, making their mind connection vibrate with his howling guffaws. Keith glared, as much as he could from his compromised position. Cosmo flashed many pictures of Keith attempting to pull out his own canines as a young boy, then flooded their connection with an endless stream of laughter over how Keith’s  _ mate  _ loved them - which made him mentally snap at the direwolf to hold his tongue as Lance Targaryen was not his mate. 

Cosmo spied him mischievously, rising to his paws, asking him how he would like a lap full of this Lance Targaryen? He almost bit off Lance’s fingers trying to hiss at the direwolf to stop - causing Lance to gasp - but all was halted when the sound of knuckles rapped on the door. 

Lance abandoned him, giving him ample time to growl, teeth bared, at his direwolf, even so much as threatening to lock him in the pits. Cosmo snickered, turning to follow and rub against Lance’s thigh as the Targaryen Prince opened the barred door. 

Keith turned at the tiny gasp, and stood immediately. Takashi stood in the doorway, bowed at the waist to Lance before rising, “Forgive me, Prince Regent. I was sent this way hoping to find the King - oh.” 

He knew what it looked like to Takashi. Had they not grown up together? He knew what his Hand would think. By his messy hair, his messy clothing, the Prince’s blushed complexion from the wine, and even his own from not just the wine - He wanted to open his mouth and defend the Prince’s honor but what stalled him was the secretive glance Lance shot his way, under his eyelashes with the subtle curve of his lips. Like he was teasing him… 

Heat flared in his abdomen again, closing his throat. Was the Prince teasing him this entire time? From undressing near him, to even going so far as to touch his face, hoping what? Hoping the Red Wolf of the North would pounce? Was he… so stupid and thick headed he had not seen the Dragon Prince’s advances? His head was dizzy, and he strode forward to meet Takashi at the door. 

“Aye, onward, Takashi,” he grumbled, half turning to Lance. He bowed, just a dip, but more than he was expected, “I’ll be on my way then.”    
  
The secretive smile was gone, replaced by a placate steady gaze. He dipped forward too, “Thank you for keeping me warm with company, my King.” 

He flushed, to the very roots of his hair at the almost implication. The Dragon Prince  _ was  _ teasing him! The smile was back, followed by the Takashi sputtering on his other side. He coughed, nodded again and turned first from the doorway, leaving Takashi to catch up down the hall. 

Almost immediately Takashi slapped his padded arm, hissing lowly, “Did you -”    
  
“No!” He hissed back, teeth bared. Takashi rose to the hackled challenge, baring teeth of his own until they were bristling at each other silently at the end of the hall. They burst from their anger the second the soft taps of the Dragon Prince’s boots reached their ears. They turned simultaneously, as the Packmates they were, to see the fair haired beauty striding over, breathless. 

“Ah, my King,” Lance smiled, his arm reaching out to touch onto Keith’s, this time he looked bashful, almost hiding under his silver hair, “I wonder… would it be too much to ask to be seated beside you tonight?”    


He could feel the reverberations of Takashi’s smugness next to him, overbearing and laced with the ever so subtle intense scolding he was to be rewarded later for being alone in the Dragon Prince’s chambers. He could hardly care, in that moment, looking at the gorgeous man in front of him, fingers dancing nervously over his armor,    
  
“Aye, I’d be honored, my Prince.” 

 

The resulting smile was worth very nearly every scolding Takashi had planned for him. And to watch the Prince happily stride away back to his chambers was worth very nearly every thrashing he would receive from the Dragon Queen herself. 


End file.
